Hum of computer, tappity-tap-tap of computer keys... My own thoughts...

Move him into the sun—
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields half-sown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.

Think how it wakes the seeds,—
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides,
Full-nerved—still warm—too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
—O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth’s sleep at all?

Crunchym8: Work tomorrow at a greenhouse, followed by a D&D session. Aw fel yeaahhh I can't be more hardcore.
Crunchym8: WE'RE PLANTING THE MUMS AND THE DAYLILLIES TOMORROW AND IF WE HAVE TIME SNAPDRAGONS
Crunchym8: I AM SO MANLY.